Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Betrothal Ball at Merrick House Begins
As the stately clock in the hall clock struck ten, people continued to fill the atrium, crowding into the ballroom. When Richard told her Hansen could stand by and welcome any latecomers, she was relieved. Her face seemed frozen into a permanent smile and her knees ached from curtsying.
The dance floor was full. Fiona noticed a number of guests lingered in the front drawing room, left open for the occasion, and others had moved to the spacious gardens, where they sought respite from the crowds in the temperate night air.
The Prince Regent attended, much to everyone’s surprise.
He decided to come down from Balmoral for the festivities.
She surveyed the future monarch with curiosity as he greeted Richard with informal affection.
He was florid and leaned toward corpulence, which was unfortunate, since his outfit was ostentatious with all the affectations that her betrothed declined to wear.
“Lord Seldon, my felicitations on your engagement. I thought I’d better come out of the country and find out who you intend to marry.
Is this the gel? Very pretty, very pretty indeed.
You must allow me to give the toast, eh?
Damme, your coat is an excellent cut…too plain for my taste, but it suits you. Weston or Stultz?”
“Maxwell, Your Highness, but all three are masters of their craft. May I introduce my fiancée, Miss Rafferty? She has recently arrived from Dublin.”
The regent’s puce coat, adorned by many fobs and a diamond brooch, opened over a waistcoat of unfortunate peridot green.
When she curtsied, he inclined his head with difficulty, due to the extravagant height of his cravat.
But his smile was genuine and she dismissed his fashion foibles to the eccentricities of royalty.
“Dublin, eh? Mighty fine horses in Dublin. By-the-bye, congratulations on your latest race prospect, Richard—everyone says it will win Newmarket this year. I’ll demand the first cover when you breed him, you know.
Have to keep improving the royal line and all that.
Miss Rafferty, I do hope you will save me a dance—the pavane, perhaps.
I know it’s old-fashioned, but I don’t do these wild country dances, if you understand. ”
“Of course, Your Highness, I would be honored,” she murmured. “You’re very kind to grace our celebration tonight. Might I offer some refreshments?”
“What a charming accent, eh, Richard? I predict you will do very well in London, m’dear. Some wine is certainly in order—no, no, Miss Rafferty, I will find my own way. There’s no need to escort me. You are altogether delightful…I’ll have to visit Ireland more often.”
The members of his entourage hurried after him as he drifted off amid a gauntlet of people, making his way to the refreshment table.
Lady Amelia hurried over. “Oh, my, Richard. The Prince Regent! We sent an invitation, of course, but I hardly expected to see him. Fiona, you won him over completely. Do you think he will give the wedding toast? I vow I could pass out from excitement.”
“Me, too,” Octavia chirped at her side. “So far, I’ve helped light the candles and danced with Denys and met a prince.”
“Your dress is quite charming,” Richard tweaked her nose, “and your behavior has been exemplary. So you may stay downstairs until midnight…then off to bed.”
Lady Amelia opened her fan. “I can hardly wait to read the society pages in the morning. Mark me, this evening is a triumph.”
Fiona watched the crowded floor, curious that Richard had not asked her to dance yet. After a short pause, the lilting strains of a waltz filled the room, and he offered his hand to her.
“Let us provide fodder for gossip. Waltz with me.”
She followed him to the dance floor. “And why would that be cause for talk? We have often waltzed together.”
Richard swept her against him, swirling Fiona into the crowd. “Once engaged or married, couples rarely dance with one another. They must partner with those looking to make a match, to show them to advantage.”
“Stuff! I hope you will always waltz with me, my lord. You are my teacher and too fine a dancer to give away to another.”
The corners of his eyes creased with amusement. “Why does everything you say tonight make me want to kiss you, Fiona?”
Before she could manage a response, she noticed the couples around them pulling away one by one to stand at the edge of the dance floor. Soon, she and Richard danced alone.
“Have we offended everyone?” she whispered.
“Head high, love. If we have, it’s no time to surrender.”
As the waltz ended, the crowd broke into applause.
“It seems we have started a new tradition. Curtsy to our guests, my love…I predict you’ll set trends as my countess.”
She smiled up at him. “We will together, Richard.”
At midnight, buffet tables laden with everything from cold chicken and slices of beef to fresh fruit, pastries, and various cheeses stood in the back of the ballroom.
Adjoining sideboards held glasses of wine, ratafia, punch, and lemonade.
Lady Amelia had instructed her footmen to set out chairs and dining tables for the convenience of her guests.
Servants carried bottles of champagne from Merrick House’s fine cellars in preparation for the betrothal toast that would start dinner. The regent was in fine humor and presented the first glass to the future bride and groom with congratulations and a pretty speech for the future.
Richard had relented and allowed Octavia to stay longer. They made a charming picture on the dance floor and sipped a glass of lemonade with Lady Sally Jersey, a particular friend of the Merricks. It was well after one, and the festivities showed no signs of subsiding.
“Remember, my dear, never to apologize for your mistakes,” the most prominent of Almack’s patronesses advised.
“Own them, and all of London will say you set fashions. And don’t hesitate to wear bright colors once you marry; they suit you admirably.
Play the piano to your heart’s content, especially the pieces they say you should not.
I have heard that you shine on a horse, Fiona, so ride at every opportunity with the tallest feathers in your hat that you can manage.
You are very different from most of the ton, but embrace that difference. Do you drive?”
“No, but Richard has offered to teach me. Should I learn?”
“Most certainly. After all, you will have the best whip in London to instruct you.” Lady Jersey’s gray eyes grew misty with remembrance.
“When I married Lord Jersey, I was but a girl from the country and petrified at the thought of fitting into society. If only I had a mentor back then, I wouldn’t have muddled through so badly. ”
“Much more than muddled, I would say, Lady Sally,” she objected. “I appreciate any guidance you offer. I’ve no desire to embarrass Richard or his family.”
“There were speculations about your sudden engagement, but those have subsided. Lord Richard’s eyes follow you wherever you go, and he has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. I knew him well and thought he might never marry. His affections are so rarely engaged.”
“Well, from what I understand, he has certainly had his share of lovers,” Fiona said tartly. Seeing Mrs. Davenport at every social event they attended still piqued her.
Lady Jersey laughed. “Men do not have affaires with women they will marry.” She set down her glass. “Ah…here comes your affianced to fetch you. No doubt he fears my tongue will run away with me.”
As he approached, she opened her ivory fan, waving it idly.
“Well, Lady Jersey, have you been regaling Fiona with tales of my misspent youth?”
She snapped the fan closed, striking him smartly on his hand. “Nonsense. I am scarcely old enough to be aware of your youthful exploits. Besides, it is common knowledge that you sprang from the womb fully formed and utterly responsible.”
“Touché indeed.”
“I have been informing your betrothed that she must follow her heart and preserve that uniqueness which I so admire. Will you play for us tonight, Miss Rafferty? Everyone has been asking.”
Richard bowed. “That is why I must interrupt.”
Once on the dais, she sat and lifted the coverboard from the Broadwood, flexing her fingers and testing a few chords.
“I’ve decided to play Mozart’s Concerto 21 in C major.”
“Shall I fetch your music?”
She warmed up with a high and low glissade and several arpeggios. “There is no need. I know this by heart. It is a lovely piece.”
Guests filled the surrounding space. Once the murmuring and conversations quieted, her hands moved over the keys in the piece’s reflective and melodic opening.
The audience sighed collectively. The concerto was one of her best recital pieces, and she would give an unforgettable rendition with Richard at her side.
The elegant, dream-like andante had just begun when a disturbance, sounding much like an argument of sorts, filtered in from the atrium. Fiona closed her eyes, attempting to block out the noise and concentrate on the flow of the music.
When the scuffle of feet, accompanied by raised voices intensified, Richard laid a hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “Pray continue,” he murmured, “I will deal with the disruption.”
The onlookers raised a low buzz of speculation and concern, craning their heads to see the altercation. But as Richard strode across the ballroom, Hansen met him halfway, his face dark as a thundercloud.
“My lord, this gentleman refuses—”
“Damn your hide, let me by! I may have no invitation, but you will let me enter, you hulking beast! Fiona! Fiona Kathleen, where are you?”
She froze, her fingers falling from the keys in sharp discord.
The room seemed to whirl around her. Blindly, she stared as an older man of imposing height and athletic build pushed past Hansen.
The gentleman’s tousled hair was long, falling well to his shoulders, and inky black with a touch of gray at the temples.
There was a roaring in her ears. “A-a-athair?” she croaked. The last thing she remembered before darkness swept in was Richard’s concerned voice in the distance.